Test Results
by dizi
Summary: How did a group like ProjectX begin so successfully with the WeaponX program? They didn't. 'He' is from an earlier Project and 'she' is a second generation result. Rating for language and adult situations, nothing graphic. Wolverine and all major XMen, AU
1. Chapter 1

disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Marvel Comics Group. I expect to receive no monetary benefits from this work of fiction, though I reap much satisfaction. All other characters are MINE, but I can be persuaded to share if asked nicely.

* * *

**Test Results  
**by Dizi

Chapter 1

Through the dirty window she watched. She was lucky to have a window and knew it well. Sister Meredith told her often. She was lucky they even took care of her since she was full of sin, though she wasn't certain how that was possible. She wasn't allowed to leave the Church or hospital, so how could she have sinned? But Sister Meredith said it was so and she had learned long ago it was better not to question Sister Meredith. As she liked having a window, it was best not say anything at all that might be considered ungrateful. Which really did mean anything.

Usually the only thing to see were people coming and going. However that was enough for her.

Today was a very unusual day, there was something happening. Something strange and wondrous.

There were people in funny clothes fighting what she could only guess were giant robots. A man with claws hacked at one of the robot's legs. Another man fired a red light from his eyes, knocking the head off the same one. A woman was flying and picked another up, throwing it to the street so hard it broke into pieces. She was sure there were more fighting the robots but those were the ones she could see.

Others were trying to help the regular people to safety inside the hospital. Those were the ones she wanted to see better, but the only one clearly visible was a large black man. There was something over one of his eyes which she couldn't make it out. In one hand, he held a very big gun which shot out a destructive golden light whenever one of the robots came too close. More interesting was his other hand - the one not holding the gun - did the very same thing.

He shouted words she couldn't hear, but she thought they were meant to speed the people along. For some reason, most of the bystanders crouched down in fear and just stayed there until he made them move. Of course, some of them had been hurt by the robots and he had to help them inside, firing the gun with one hand and dragging them with the other. He only had to get them close and orderlies would take them inside. Then he would start over again, making some people move and dragging others, all the while shooting at the robots to keep them back.

She recognized one of the bystanders as Dr. Corbin. Though she didn't know how good a doctor he was, she didn't like him. Not that she knew him well, the only people she saw regularly were Sister Meredith and Father Carson, but the two times she had been in his presence he had shown he didn't like her. That was enough for her to not like him back.

Now, Dr. Corbin was shouting at the man, distracting him from the robots. Her breath caught when something hit him - she couldn't see what it was - and he fell to his knees, blood coming from his chest.

And Dr. Corbin ran away. Just ran away and left him.

Holding her breath, she waited for someone to help him. He had saved so many, someone had to be willing to help him too...

Several minutes passed...

He finally collapsed completely...

Blood started pooling around him...

One of the robots saw him and raised a hand...

...and a man in a long brown trenchcoat jumped between his injured comrade and the robot, flinging something small that exploded on contact. He paused to shout in the direction of the hospital, continuing to toss the objects he pulled out of his pocket, keeping the robot back while a couple orderlies finally ran to the black man.

She turned away from the window. He was badly hurt and probably a mutant. The doctors wouldn't help him until the other injured were taken care of. There were too many for them to get to him in time. He would die.

Sister Meredith and Father Carson didn't like her helping those they called undeserving. They didn't understand. She needed to do it, she couldn't stop, couldn't wait for the 'special' people they wanted her to help. So she wasn't supposed to go down there, wasn't supposed to be around 'normal' people. Every time she did, they would lock her away, take away her window and replace it with a closet in the basement. She'd only had it a week this time...

But she'd been feeling the need and would have soon done it anyway. At least she would know he would live.

Then she would accept her punishment without complaint. As she always did.

* * *

There was a crack in the ceiling. Bishop stared at it unblinkingly, concentrating on keeping conscious, listened to his breath rattle and gurgle though his damaged lungs.

The battle with the Sentinels was still ongoing. His teammates would come but he knew they wouldn't be in time. He had lost too much blood and he had heard the damn doctor say he was too badly hurt to be saved. Too hurt for them to try. Too hurt for them to waste needed supplies. Too much a mutant to be worth the effort was what they meant.

Anger rolled through him, but he suppressed it. The more excited he got, the more blood he lost. Even through the bandage they had grudgingly applied.

He wasn't going to die without a fight. In this situation, that translated to being calm and still, keeping his blood pressure low to keep as much in his body as possible. Not that he could move. His limbs were weak, lethargic from blood loss.

The pain in his chest was fading. So was his vision. It didn't matter. He would keep fighting until there was nothing left...

Bishop didn't feel the light touch on his arm, a soft stroke. The pain was back suddenly, intensified ten-fold. He didn't recognize that it didn't originate from his bleeding wound but from his arm because his whole body was affected. Unable to stop himself, his eyes closed and his back arched. He thought something had ruptured and he was dying.

When the pain disappeared as suddenly as it had started, Bishop thought he was dead, deep inside he knew it.

Then he slowly became aware of his surroundings. He could hear crying from the lobby, the nurses and orderlies rushing to and fro outside his curtained off cubicle. He could feel the uncomfortable hospital bed under him. And when he opened his eyes, he could again see the crack in the ceiling.

Lightheaded from shock but feeling no pain, Bishop slowly brought his hands to his chest and felt for the wound. Nothing. Nothing at all.

In disbelief, he ripped off the bandage. He was whole. Except for the bloody gauze and tape in his hands, there was no evidence of an injury. In fact, several scars he'd had for many years were gone as well. If he wasn't good as new, he was better than before.

Looking around, he saw the curtain separating him from everyone else was open. Someone had been in here with him. Perhaps someone had healed him and left? If so, they were strong, very strong. In the past he had never been so close to the brink of death as today. He had been hurt before and probably would be again, but this was the worst.

Getting up quickly, he pushed through the curtain only to see nothing out of the ordinary, no one out of place. Damping down his disappointment, he told himself to let it go. Whoever it was didn't want to be known or they would have stayed a little longer.

As he went back out to rejoin the fray, Bishop knew he would be back to search for the healer, if only to give his thanks.

* * *

He put the binoculars in his pack having seen all he cared to. The fight on the street wasn't his and he didn't give a damn about it. Let them kill each other and those hypocrites in St. Catherine's.

Except for her.

She'd been there too long, suffered too much. His fault or not, he felt responsible and didn't like it. He was tired of being responsible for others, thought that part of it was done. Now he found out it wasn't.

The last three weeks he'd watched what happened here. Seen what her life was like. Watched what they did to her, and what they didn't do for her. Then he'd planned.

He wanted to sneak her out, see them freak when their prize was gone. With the battle on the street, he had a gut instinct he had to move soon. Whether it was a sign, a premonition, impatience, or something else didn't matter. He'd learned to trust these feelings. Tomorrow his plan would be in motion, everything now in place. The day after at most, she should be in his hands. But if he felt it necessary he would go in and find her somehow, guns blazing if absolutely necessary.

Looking out the window from an empty apartment in the building across the street, he whispered a promise to someone who couldn't hear him. "Soon, Marissa. Just a little longer and you'll be free. Then the hard part begins."

to be continued.

* * *

note: I have lots of plans for this story. However I got stuck after the first arc. See, I worked up a full history on the OC's but didn't plan out the rest of the story very much. So I've only got three chapters written. They've been written for quite a while because I'm just not totally sure what exactly should happen next. I haven't even figured out an ending like I usually do. 

The rating is set for a little bit of adult connotation and language, nothing graphic. I really just wanted to be safe in that regard.

Special thanks to HuntressX. The idea for this story came from not really her but a character I gave to her for her story "Future Hope". After I donated it, the idea for the character came to life in my mind. She very kindly gave permission for me to use the character in a different way than she is. Which is inevitable as we do write differently. Hence, if you've read her story, Marissa will sound a little familiar but she's older in mine and her life takes a totally different direction.

Next chapter coming next week. Staying with the Tuesday schedule at this time.

Thanks for reading and the support,  
Dizi


	2. Chapter 2

disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Marvel Comics Group. I expect to receive no monetary benefits from this work of fiction, though I reap much satisfaction. All other characters are MINE, but I can be persuaded to share if asked nicely.

* * *

**Test Results  
**by Dizi

Chapter 2

"Hello." He smiled charmingly at the receptionist. "My name is Jeff Manning. I have an appointment with Father Carson."

The woman's eyes nearly popped out of her skull they became so wide. The man was gorgeous! Shoulder length black hair with a bit of curl, ruggedly handsome features in a clean-shaven face, and dressed in a stylish suit he filled to perfection. She would bet it wasn't padding that made his shoulders so broad. He was even polite because he'd spoken as he bent down to pick up the paperclip she had dropped.

It was too bad he was one of Father Carson's 'special' guests. The mutie bitch would spend more time with him than she could ever hope to. That was the way it worked. Especially since one of those special visitors had tried to use her to kidnap the mutie. She wasn't willing to lose her job over a man, no matter how handsome. Father Carson paid too well.

"He's on a conference call right now." She coolly gave the usual response. "I'll let him know you're here as soon as he's done."

Nodding in a friendly manner, he took the chair she indicated. 'Jeff Manning' was an alias he had used before, but not often enough to be recognized by anyone. A very useful persona, it was used when he wanted to appear respectable and very rich, powerful. He had the power and the money, but respectable was something he'd rarely cared for. Hence, 'Jeff' wasn't seen very much. It just wasn't his usual personal style.

The wait was a good ten minutes, despite having an appointment. He wasn't bothered by it because he expected it to be longer. His research had told him Father Jacob Carson liked to show his contempt of those willing to use a mutant and make them aware of the power he had over life and death through said mutant by making them sit outside his office as long as he wanted them to.

Since the standard wait was at minimum twenty minutes, ole Jacob probably needed money quickly.

When he was politely gestured into the office, the Father was garbed in what appeared to be the standard priest's suit. Appearances were deceiving. It was tailor made of fine linen even if it was dyed the appropriate black. There was a diamond studded Rolex on his wrist, more diamonds on his cuff-links, a large emerald on one finger, and his crucifix was solid gold. The man was supposed to be bald but someone who was unaware of that wouldn't know it by the very expensive toupee on his head. He must have had some work done on his face, because the chin was man-made and the nose much better than the one in his picture from the seminary. The vacation in Aruba had hopefully helped his soul as much as his tan.

Yes, as he knew, the 'good' Father liked to live the high life. His gambling debts were more evidence of that - and the reason he'd known an appointment would be welcomed. Of course, to pay those debts the man wasn't willing to part with his earthly pleasures or treasures. No, instead he pimped out his prize mutant at a hundred thousand a pop to save someone's life. For another five grand he pimped her out in other ways, letting 'clients' do whatever they liked with her. As long as they didn't permanently damage the merchandise. Where else would he get his money?

Knowing all this, he had to force himself not to simply break the 'good' Father's neck. Instead, he smiled at him. "I trust all is in order? My nephew's life is hanging on by a thread."

"Everything is fine." Father Carson smiled back, but it didn't reach his eyes. Was that a bit of nervousness? "As soon as the transaction is complete we'll fly your nephew in and he'll walk out on his own two feet. The... process can be done sometime next week perhaps?"

"Perhaps not." The smile didn't fade. It vanished, along with all traces of friendliness. "Our agreement was for tomorrow. If you expect him to wait another week in pain, then I expect a significant reduction of the fee."

"There's been a complication." The damn girl had used too much energy before Sister Meredith caught her helping the patients after the incident on the street. "The mutant won't be able to do it until next week."

"We had an agreement. My nephew is on life support and has had to be resuscitated twice in the last two weeks alone. He may not _have _another week. Though stable now, that could change at any time." It was enough of the truth that he was believed. There was actually a boy in that condition, but he wasn't his nephew. He didn't have any family.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Which was a complete lie. Father Carson wasn't sorry in the least. Such unfortunate circumstances paid for his life-style. "As a priest, I must suggest if he were to pass on before the procedure can be done, that it might be God's will. All cases are tragedies, I'm afraid. We cannot make an exception and reduce the price because of unforeseen events. Bad for business, you know. If we did it once, people would think the price was negotiable. It's not."

Narrowing his eyes menacingly for show, he thought quickly. The response wasn't a surprise but the delay was unexpected. His plans would need to be adjusted. "Very well. I will double the fee, IF the mutant flies to _him_."

Father Carson didn't like the idea. He didn't even like letting her out of the basement but saw the need to give her _something_. But the money called to him. With that much he could pay his debts and have some left over. "We should be able to arrange that. He's in Seattle, correct?"

"Yes, Seattle." Since he'd taken the bait, it was time to sweeten it. He could be generous. The greedy priest would never see so much as a penny anyway. "I think, however, we should have another side deal. Just to be sure there won't be any more unforeseen events. Another fifty thousand should do."

Rather than jumping at the offer, Father Carson became suspicious. "And in exchange?"

"The girl belongs to me for the week I have to wait. To do whatever I want with her." His expression didn't change. They might as well be talking about renting a car. "Fifty thousand should be about ten times what you charge for her other services. I'll have some amusement while I wait and I'll know she's available when the time comes to save my nephew."

Two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars. It was an enormous amount. The girl's punishment would be interrupted but Jacob Carson was sure this would more than take its place. His client seemed angry enough to make her suffer, which was what he thought she deserved. "You know the rules? No true damage. She isn't able to heal herself. The girl isn't really even very pretty. She was in a car accident like your nephew. Her face and body are marred by scars."

That was new information, but he shrugged. "What she looks like doesn't concern me."

"Alright, I agree." Dollar signs almost flashed in his eyes, Jacob wanted it so much. "Wire the money into my account and she'll be delivered to your hotel. Just leave the address with the receptionist."

"I'll do that. But I'm not leaving without seeing her." He held up a hand when the priest started to protest. "I just want an assurance she's still alive. For all I know, you are putting me off because something has befallen her. Take me to see your mutant and our agreement will be complete."

Reluctant but with the money beckoning, Father Carson grudgingly agreed. Opening his desk he removed a set of keys. After pausing at the receptionist's desk to give the information, they continued to the elevator. On the long ride to the basement, they were quiet, conversation unnecessary for both. They walked down a long hallway, stopping in front of a large heavy metal door. Putting the key in the doorknob, there was a loud click as the lock turned, and the priest flipped a light switch before opening the door.

It was a small cement room, smaller than a standard walk-in closet. Bare, cold, the only light a naked bulb attached to the ceiling, the room was completely empty except for a bucket - presumably for bodily waste - and a nude woman.

Thin to the point of emancipation, she huddled in a corner cringing from the light. Long white-blond hair pooled around her, most likely reaching her waist if she were to stand. Fearfully, she looked up at them through bright green eyes ringed with dark shadows. Pale very white skin gleamed. All in all, she looked sickly but he knew she was only mistreated.

There was some scarring on the left side of her body. Burn scars to be precise, on her outer thigh, hip, arm, and a patch on her jaw under her ear. They weren't really that bad and her hair would easily hide the one on her face. When she ducked her head down, her hair also hid the large bruise which swelled the entire left side where someone had hit her.

Giving him only a minute to look, Father Carson gestured for him to step back before closing and locking the door and turning off the light. "Satisfied?"

"Quite. The money will be in your account by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. I expect her to be in my suite by nine." His voice left no room for objection.

"Her keeper, Sister Meredith, will take care of it."

Controlling his rage with decades of practice, he made his way out of the hospital to the apartment across the street.

He had been concerned when he didn't see her at the window that morning. Not needing to guess, he'd _known _why. Marissa's genetics would have been pushing her to alleviate the suffering she was surrounded by. Like her father's before her, Marissa's 'gift' had compelling side-effects. She would feel a need inside her to heal someone. The damn scientists had made sure of that, reasoning it did no good to have a healer who didn't want to heal just because they might die. That she had been able to wait so long meant that Marissa was able to break her genetic conditioning - or at least was close to it.

If only she had been able to hold back a little longer, he wouldn't have had to offer so much money. Then his worry for her had forced him to demand to see her. He had known she was being mistreated but hadn't realized they had gone to such extremes. Marissa's state reminded him too much of the Projects. The scientists who treated them like objects while working on them like human guinea pigs.

The irony wasn't lost on him. He had saved himself and Marissa's father, among others, from that heinous and inhumane place only to have the daughter in an echo of it.

But he couldn't dwell on that now. He needed to set-up the ghost transfer and finish the hotel room. He needed to make double sure all was in place for when she was delivered into his hands.

Of course now he knew exactly where she was being kept, he could go back and bust her out. However, he wanted it to be a clean job. There were too many people in the hospital. Just in case, he would keep an eye out for if it became necessary though.

He was nothing if not flexible in his plans. As long as they came out the way he wanted in the end. And he wanted Marissa free.

* * *

"Valerie Cooper swears the Sentinel program is shut down again. The publicity was so bad, I have to believe her." Scott sighed as he sat down. "Maybe this time they'll keep it that way."

"Having them rip into the city time and again should have given them a clue how dangerous they are a long time ago," Bobby retorted.

"I hate to say it but I agree with Logan's sentiment's on that one. Pretty sure his words were, 'Nobody said them clowns in Washington got any sense'." Scott grinned at his imitation of his long-time teammate.

Beside him on the couch in the rec-room, Bobby looked at him in wonder. "You really are fearless. There's some things even I won't do. Making fun of Logan is one of them."

"I wasn't making fun." Scott frowned. "I was repeating. There's a difference. You notice I did it when he wasn't here to see me."

"Dat all good. Remy glad dey startin' to think. But what Remy wanna know is how Bishop up walkin' and talkin'." Pulling his eyes away from the baseball game currently playing, Remy took a sip of his beer. The Cajun had been sure they would be mourning him when he'd seen the orderlies take Bishop into the hospital. Of course, they were X-Men so he wasn't too surprised, but a body didn't get that big a hole or leave so much blood on the street and survive without some kind of major intervention.

"Ya'll goin' on about Bishop again, Gumbo?" Rogue demanded, plopping down in a chair near him. "Bishop's same as always."

"You not see it, cherie." Remy shot her an intense look. "He go down hard."

"Yeah, well, he's fine now." Bobby shrugged, unconcerned. Things like that happened too often to get freaked out over it unless you had a dead body. And not always then. Not that it was wrong to worry, but not when someone was _alright_. "Wherever he's at. I haven't seen him around."

"He and Logan went back to the hospital," Scott informed them. "Bishop said he wanted a second opinion."

"On whether he's okay?" Bobby demanded incredulously, thinking the others took things too far sometimes. Why couldn't they just be happy about it?

"He didn't say why, but I doubt that's it." Scott started looking puzzled. "Why would he take Logan if it was a medical question?"

"Those two can take care of themselves," Rogue said firmly. "Shut up and let me enjoy the game."

* * *

"They're hidin' somethin'," Logan growled. "Ever' damn one of em' been lyin'."

Bishop only nodded. That was the impression he had gotten himself that morning. It was why he had asked Logan to accompany him when he returned and why he had felt the need to return in the first place. He just didn't know if something nefarious was going on or if they were trying to protect the healer.

"Like, duh, Wolvie!" Jubilee rolled her eyes. She hadn't been invited but her presence wasn't refused either, so along she'd come. "Some of 'em are acting so nervous it's, like, obvious."

Her insight was why Bishop hadn't objected to her coming with them. Though young, the teenager had a knack for understanding people, especially the bad side of them. He hadn't trusted his own judgment because of his personal interest.

The three X-Men had just exited St. Catherine's Church, having been directed there by the hospital. They hadn't gotten any information about the healer at either place. Over an hour wasted with nothing to show for it. That morning, Bishop had started to think maybe there was nothing to find, that whoever it was may not want to be found. Then after returning to the mansion, the nuns' reactions had begun to wear on his mind.

"We can try the hospital again, but I got the same reactions there. If they know anything, they're not telling." Bishop shook his head. "One person, a nurse, seemed as though she wanted to tell me something different but a nun walked by and she stopped."

"We could find her. Bet I can make her talk." With a _snikt_, Logan popped a set of claws suggestively.

"I would think she'd have gone for the day by now," Bishop declined the option. "What we need is someone who knows the hospital but isn't involved in either it or the church..."

"Maybe someone like him?" Jubilee pointed at an old man pushing a cart. "Jenny said there's some homeless people who are sick that stay near hospitals and know all about everything going on inside."

Logan and Bishop exchanged glances.

"Couldn't hurt ta try," Logan said.

The three purposely went after the man making his way down a nearby alley.

* * *

Turning off and closing the laptop, he pushed away from the desk. This was a nice place. He was sure the owners thought so too. He should be long gone by the time they got back from vacation in Hawaii. The vacation they'd won from a drawing they didn't remember entering, courtesy of him.

Taking out a bottle of fine old brandy, he splashed some into a glass. As he took his first swallow, he looked out the window and almost spit it out.

What were they doing there? The X-Men had no need of a hospital and those were definitely X-Men, it was his business to know things like that.

More importantly, what were they doing talking to Old Jeb? The homeless man had been an informant of his about the hospital. If he told them the same things he had told _him_... They would ruin his plans.

He was so damn close! The X-Men wouldn't wait. They would go inside and make a scene. Father Carson would get nervous and call off the deal. IF they didn't get Marissa first.

Which might not be a bad idea. The X-Men weren't bad and might be able to help her. But no, she was his responsibility. Or close enough. And they might not be able to find her. How would they know where to look? Old Jeb hadn't known, only that she was there and in trouble.

So the plan was shot to hell.

Quickly, he put a few needed items in the pockets of his long green duster. Guns, ammunition, lockpicks, money. Nothing else was important and could be easily replaced.

It was time to get Marissa and God help anyone who got in his way. Priests, nuns, or X-Men.

to be continued.

* * *

note: What can be said after that? I mean, really? Next chapter is next week and will finish out this first part.

Thanks for reading and the support,  
Dizi


	3. Chapter 3

disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Marvel Comics Group. I expect to receive no monetary benefits from this work of fiction, though I reap much satisfaction. All other characters are MINE, but I can be persuaded to share if asked nicely.

* * *

**Test Results  
**by Dizi

Chapter 3

It wasn't hard to make his way back to that small room in the basement of the hospital. He easily dealt with the lock on the heavy metal door - the thing was so old it was a complete joke - and turned on the light.

Like a couple hours before, she cringed away, more from what she couldn't see than the light which blinded her.

Wasting no time, he threw some clothes at her. "Hurry and get dressed, we gotta move fast!"

Swallowing, she stared at him. He hadn't been clearly visible earlier, and had left before her eyes had fully adjusted, but she recognized him. There was no way she was going with someone Father Carson had brought. Unless Father Carson was right there and telling her to, but only then.

"Marissa!" he gruffly commanded. "Hurry up, girl!"

Now she stared at him for an entirely different reason. Father Carson would _not _have told him her name. The priest may not even remember what her name was since he had never once used it. How did this stranger know?

Understanding bloomed inside him. Why should she trust or remember him? It had been a long time, almost ten years. "Your parents names were John and Molly Burstein. The last time you saw me you were ten and showed me your room. It had white furniture and a border with kittens close to the ceiling. You said it was because you wanted a real kitten but your mother was allergic and you couldn't. My name is Zarek. Do you remember me now?"

Astonished, Marissa slowly nodded.

"Do you want out of here?"

Again she nodded.

"Then get dressed already!"

It didn't take long to slip on the slacks and long-sleeved shirt, both so big they were falling off her. All the while, she snuck curious glances at his turned back. She did remember him now, remembered her father had trusted him. But he didn't look any older and it confused her. The coat Zarek wore was the same he'd had before and it looked older than he did.

"Ready?" he asked, turning around, his voice again gruff and demanding. But Zarek didn't wait for a response once he saw she was clothed. "We'll have to go through the main part of the hospital to get out the closest exit. There may be a lot of people. Stay with me. If anyone tries to stop us, I'll take care of it. Let's go."

He set a fast pace going down the hall, Marissa had to almost run to keep up. Having to wait during the short elevator ride, she became more and more nervous. She knew there were cameras in the elevator. It was how she'd gotten caught once. What if they took her away from him? Marissa didn't want to go back.

Fully aware of the camera, Zarek again set a fast-pace once the doors opened on the second floor, this time clamping his hand on her covered arm. He hoped by not going to the main floor he would throw off whoever might be watching.

He practically dragged her down another hall to a stairwell. Down they went to a third hall. It opened up to the lobby, and the exit was in sight.

Zarek stopped abruptly, cursing, "Well, shit!"

Blocking their way, arguing, was the X-Men he'd seen on the street and Sister Meredith. Marissa trembled at the sight of her 'keeper'.

"We know you have a girl hidden here somewhere," Bishop was saying calmly. "You can show her to us so we know she's alright, or we can do this the hard way."

To show the nun what 'the hard way' entailed, Jubilee raised one hand and let a few harmless sparks fill the air between them, and Logan growled.

A rubenesque, no-nonsense sort of woman, Sister Meredith didn't blink an eye at their display. "You only prove how full of sin mutants are. Repent your heathen ways, fill your lives with good works, and you may yet be received in Heaven."

Snorting, Zarek let go of Marissa's arm and put his hand on her back, propelling her in the direction they had come. He whispered close to her ear, "We'll go out the emergency room instead. No need to go by that bitch."

"Sister, what do ya think we did yesterday?" Logan snarled. "We saved the whole damn city!"

"And show today, by your words and actions, that you have far to go." Ready to give a righteous sermon on the their sinfulness, Sister Meredith's face suddenly became angry whereas before it had been disdainful. She had seen Marissa. "What are you doing out of your room?! You dreadful girl, does your sin know no bounds?!"

Shoving Jubilee aside, the woman marched across the lobby.

Sighing, Zarek decided he wouldn't make plans from now on. Recently, they just always got ruined. Positive he could handle her, he didn't bother to take Marissa and run. It might just help her to see a confrontation with the bitch.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Sister Meredith demanded, once she was in front of them.

"Who me?" Zarek pretended surprise, one hand sliding into a pocket surreptitiously. "I'm just taking your money-making mutant and getting the hell out of here. Why?"

"She _belongs _to us! The creature is a ward of the Church!" the nun screeched.

No fools, Logan and Bishop understood the girl in question was the one they had been looking for. Signaling Jubilee, both men stood ready to assist if necessary.

Terrified, Marissa moved to stand submissively slightly behind Zarek, and whimpered when Sister Meredith reached for her, fingers curved into claws.

In an instant, Zarek had a rather ugly gun pointed at the nun's head. The look in his eyes told her he wouldn't hesitate to shoot. "I think that's enough. Back away. Tell your uniforms to do the same." Zarek was talking about two security guards, one behind him and the other coming around the side. "I told you we're leaving. Unless Marissa here, you know, the _creature _- beautiful creature, that is - wants me to leave you bleeding on the floor."

Marissa's eyes went wide. No one had called her beautiful since her parents died in that car crash years ago. Would he really shoot Sister Meredith? He'd go to Hell!

Giggling softly, Jubilee said in an undertone to Wolverine, "He kinda reminds me of you."

"I ain't never held a gun on a nun, kid," came his reply just as low.

Both his brows raised questioningly, Zarek asked, "Well, Marissa? Should I kill her for what she's done to you?"

Blank-faced, she stared at him. Life and death had been in her hands before, literally, but never like this.

"Tell him not to shoot!" screamed Sister Meredith, and said to the guards, another one having come running, "Get back! All of you!"

"Make a decision, girl." Zarek told Marissa in his usual gruff tone. "Haven't got all day. I've never killed a nun before, it'll be a new experience for me and I don't get those often."

Mutely, still terrified, Marissa shook her head negatively.

"Nope, that ain't gonna work. You gotta say it out loud." He had realized she hadn't spoken, but knew she could talk.

"N-no," Marissa's voice was a stuttering whisper, having trained herself not to talk in Sister Meredith's presence and not much anywhere else either. "D-don't k-k-kill her."

"Too bad. I was starting to look forward to it." Keeping his gun trained on the nun, Zarek pushed Marissa towards the door with the other hand, indicating she go from behind him. "Now, like I said, we're leaving. Deal with it."

"God will punish you for your wicked ways," Sister Meredith swore as they got further away from her. Father Carson would not be happy about this.

"God had nothing to do with it, lady. If he did, I've already been punished more than you can imagine." He nodded towards Wolverine. "Same as him."

Logan became stiff and his eyes alert. The man couldn't mean what he thought. His pieces of memories from Weapon X hadn't included him.

"We have a car waiting outside," Bishop said softly, loud enough for Zarek and Marissa to hear him but not the security guards. "Let us give you santuary."

"As long as we the hell out of here, I don't care," Zarek swore. "She needs someplace safe."

Nodding, Bishop hurried outside to start the car.

"We're gonna have us a talk." Logan growled low to him and said to Jubilee, "In the meantime, how 'bout a distraction, kid?"

"Sure, Wolvie." Rolling her eyes at him still calling her kid even though she was seventeen, Jubilee lifted both hands and there was a wall of brightly colors sparks filling the lobby.

The guards freaked. Jubilee, Logan, and Zarek along with Marissa - he once again had a hand clamped on her arm - rushed towards the door.

A gun went off.

Horrified, Marissa looked to Zarek but it hadn't been his.

With a cry of pain, Jubilee crumpled, her leg bleeding.

Without missing a step, Wolverine snatched her up into his arms and continued out the door, a snarl on his lips.

Get away vehicle ready, Bishop was behind the wheel of a black SUV. They all piled inside, Zarek last, finally putting away his gun after Marissa followed Logan into the backseat and taking the front passenger side himself. Bishop took off down the road before the doors were closed.

"It hurts," Jubilee moaned.

Stripping off his tshirt, Logan used it to wrap her leg. "It's just a flesh wound, darlin. Blue will fix ya up good as new."

Looking over his should, Zarek suddenly shouted, "No!"

But he was too late. Marissa had reached past Logan and touched Jubilee's bare arm.

The teen cried out, not in pain but surprise as it didn't hurt because she wasn't as bad off as Bishop been.

Marissa slumped into the seat.

"Goddammit!" Zarek let out a string of curses while Logan looked around for the danger. "Forget the kid! She's fine now! Check Marissa's pulse, dammit! Shit, she looks like she could be dead!"

Indeed, Marissa was so pale as to be lifeless and her body had somehow become thinner, her cheeks now gaunt.

Following his orders, Logan pressed his fingers to her neck. "She's alive but her pulse is weak."

Relieved, Zarek sat back, breathing deeply. "That would be just great to save her only to have her die a few minutes later. Hell."

"What's wrong with her?" Bishop looked at Marissa through the rearview mirror, driving faster. Aparently they still needed to hurry home to Hank.

"It's a fine thing to save people, right? Bring them back from the brink of death?" Zarek gave Bishop a significant look. "But she pays the price. Healing uses her up, the fuel coming from her body itself. Damn scientists fixed it so she feels a need to heal anyone she sees that's hurt at all. I thought she'd overcome that, but this shows she hasn't. The bastards."

"She'll keep doing it even if she's going to _die_!" Jubilee exclaimed. Her leg had hurt but she hadn't been worried once Logan told her it was a flesh wound. Hank would have taken care of it easy.

"Her father was the only survivor of that experiment and he was like a recovering alcoholic. Always wanting to heal someone, like an alcoholic always want a drink." Zarek's voice was bitter. "John overcame what they did to him only because he had Molly, and years later Marissa. His love for them made him strong enough. The others weren't so lucky. They died, all fifteen of them."

"What do we do for her?" Bishop asked.

"If she wakes up by the time we arrive, fill her full of food and keep it coming. Shove it down her throat. If not, put her on an IV, heavy on the glucose." Zarek ran his fingers through his long hair. "Hell, maybe both. She'll process it quick, building up her strength at an accelerated rate. But the big thing is, once she's recovered, don't let her touch you. Not even for a scratch or she'll never be at a hundred percent. More important, Marissa has to learn NOT to use her powers. It won't be easy. I wanted her to learn in some remote place where no one was around, but it could be better in a place full of people. A harder lesson, but a more realistic one."

"Huh. She'll get that at the mansion." Logan grumbled. Dragging his eyes from Marissa's still form, he said to Zarek, "And we'll be havin' a long talk 'bout what ya said in there.'

"Fine. After Marissa's out of danger. All danger."

to be continued.

* * *

note: Well, got all or most of the characters in play and as far as the story came to me. I have ideas for further events but haven't figured out what exactly happens next. It seems that the other three stories in progress have been calling to me more than this one. But I really like it and will get it done. Sooner or later. Hope you like it so far! 

Thanks for reading and the support,  
Dizi


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